


When in Rome

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Series: Tumblr Drabble [14]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alley Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Inspired by Sebastian Stan's Instagram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night they go exploring Rome, he finds himself wishing he had Steve’s talent for sketching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When in Rome

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a terrible person. There're photos from Sebastian Stan's instagram circulating around Tumblr of him and his girlfriend in Rome and the next thing I know this happened.
> 
> I should be going to bed and here I am, writing Winter Widow porn.
> 
> Typical.
> 
> -M

On the night they go exploring Rome, he finds himself wishing he had Steve’s talent for sketching.  

Her eyes sparkle like the gems they resemble so closely-black and green and so very sharp in the half light-and her red hair streams wildly around her bare shoulders.

Every single bone in his body longs for him to hold her-to press her against the ancient brick walls of the alley they’re meandering down and to run his fingers up her waist to cup her breasts.  Every single fiber of his being tells him that he should act. That her body needs to be pressed against his, his thigh pressed firmly between hers and her hair tangled in his fingers.

Every bit of him screams at him to kiss her.

Claim her.

The flash of his phone’s camera is bright in the darkening alleyway and her throaty laugh washes over him, even as she presses herself against the wall and beckons him forward with a single crook of her finger.

"Come here James," she says, her voice a soft purr in the stillness that he knows is unusual for this normally bustling city.  "Come here and let me kiss you."

Her lips-red, so red it kills him-are curled in her usual enigmatic smile and the sheer black strapless dress does very little to hide her body.  He wishes so desperately he could draw, in that moment, it actually makes his heart ache.  

"Natalia," he says and his voice is a harsh growl, but he goes to her, stopping just short of pinning her to the wall with his hands braced on either side of her head and his hips firm against hers.  He stops short-but he can imagine.  Imagine what her eyes would look like as she craned her head back to look at him.  Imagine what it would feel like to have her breasts, so thinly covered by the thin fabric of her gown, brush against his chest.  

He can imagine.

And that is part of the problem, isn’t it?

"The mission-" he starts to say, ever the reasonable one.  

The Winter Soldier is in Rome with the Black Widow.

The mission should come before their pleasure.

Her fingers lock on the lapels of his tux jacket and she chuckles under her breath as she jerks him forward, so his body presses too warm into hers.

"The mission can wait," she growls, her fingers smoothing his jacket off of his shoulders and onto the cobbled street of the alley she’s led him down, the better to access their target.  "We have some time."  

Her eyes are more black than green-more shadow than light-and her lips are firm against his as she pulls his head down, the better to access his mouth.  He shudders the moment her tongue strokes his lips, teasing and toying.  Daring him to play with her.  

He shudders and bites back a groan as her body curves into his, legs spreading for his knee even as he rests an arm above her head, the better to lessen the space between their bodies. 

Her fingers, wicked nails biting, work at the button of his slacks and he almost takes her right there in the Roman alleyway-rough and ancient stones the only witness to their decidedly wicked games.  But he knows restraint.

She has taught him well, his Black Widow.

She hums as she eases the slender suspenders he wears over his shoulders to dangle uselessly at his hips and her fingers are firm on the hard metal of his prosthetic, even as her legs spread further for his stroking fingers.

Their lips unlock for a moment, as he pulls away-the better to see where her body begins and the damned dress she wears ends-and she laughs softly at the snarled curse he lets out when the sheer fabric blocks his fingers time-and-again.  

"Here," she murmurs and suddenly the dress is sighing to puddle around the dangerous heels she wears.  "Better, moy medved?" 

He grins at that, at the soft Russian spilling from her lips, at the sight of her pale body glowing in the golden light of the streetlights glowing at either end of the alley.  Guns, holstered at her thighs, and the Widow’s Bite are all she wears beneath the chiffon. Besides the lace lingerie he’d bought for her last month on a whim when he and Steve were in London for a meeting with Jack.  

The delicate black lace compliments her weapons so well and as he takes her in-from her spread feet, braced on the cobbles, to the delicate holsters circling her pale thighs like garter belts, to the soft swells of her breasts rising out of the lace of her strapless bra-his fingers lock on her hips instinctively.

She gasps involuntarily the moment he raises her, the metal of his arm flashing through the half-buttoned front of his shirt, and her legs wrap tightly around his hips, pulling him tightly into her clutches. 

"James," she gasps, her voice ending on a slight sob as he ducks his head to her breasts and trails teeth and lips over her sweet-smelling skin.  "Hurry, before someone comes."  

She does not have to urge him for long.

He holds her with just the palm of his metal hand against the soft curves of her ass, fingers stroking absently along her cleft, and she groans as his other hand busies itself with first the zipper of his slacks, then the soft lace of her panties.

The shadows have deepened to the point where she can barely see him, but she knows him so well.  Knows every inch of his body.

Of his arousal.

And just as she knew what she was doing when she led him down this alley, she knows when to surrender to his touch.

Their bodies respond identically the moment he thrusts deeply into her core and as he groans and she gasps, she draws him even tighter into her clutch, fingers tight in his hair and breasts pressed to his broad chest.

"Yes," she whispers in his ear as he thrusts quickly-fiercely-and she barely notices the roughness of the brick wall at her back or the cool metal touch of his hand on her hip, moving her in time with his body.  "Yes, James. This-this-this."

She doesn’t have the strength to tell him how she feels, how it feels to ride him, here in this stunningly beautiful city.

And he doesn’t have the courage to tell her how much he longs to capture this moment.

To capture in graphite lines, the exquisite beauty of her face caught in the throes of her orgasm.  To capture the sight of her breasts swelling at the stroke of his lips and too-fierce squeeze of his fingers.  

To capture her, in her entirety.  

They climax together, tipping over the edge as one and she muffles her screams in his shoulder, teeth locking fiercely on his skin.  His voice rips along her name-ragged and bare, as broken as the day she found him half-dead in the streets of Philadelphia-and as she takes his heat, riding each burst with a gentle roll of her hips helped along by his cool-metal hand, she smiles.  

"You better delete that picture of me, Barnes," she growls fiercely in his ear, her legs untangling from his hips.

He simply smirks and sprawls on the step next to their puddled clothes, long legs sprawling as he watches her slip the dress once more over her body to stream teasingly around her ankles.  

He shakes his head, that desire to draw her still whispering in the shadows of his heart, and stretches a hand in her direction, waiting for her fingers to slip between his to say, “I have plans for that picture, moya dorogiya.”

His eyes glint wickedly as she curses him in a teasing manner and her fingers taste like gunpowder and dusty brick walls on his lips as he brings each digit to his mouth.  

He may not have the skill to sketch her wild curves or wickedly secretive smile, he reflected as she hauled him upright and began straightening his clothes, but he did know someone who did have the skills to capture her in graphite lines. 

He deleted the picture from the burner phone the moment he got a simple reply of,  _Of course Buck_  and he did not stop grinning the rest of the night, his eyes never leaving the sight of her shadowed curves peeking at him through the thin fabric of her gown.


End file.
